


Boundaries

by time_converges



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/time_converges/pseuds/time_converges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan doesn’t want to turn into Sherlock.  He doesn’t want that either.  Spoilers through ep 2x7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boundaries

Joan sat on the floor, cross-legged, with papers spread all around her. She studied the autopsy photos again, trying to find anything she had missed the first ten times she had looked at them. There was something she couldn’t put a finger on, if she could just see what it was. She jumped a little, startled, when Sherlock draped a blanket around her shoulders.

“You were shivering,” he said simply, as he took a seat on the sofa behind her. 

“Was I?”

“Ah, excellent concentration, Watson. You were ignoring all physical cues, excellent.”

She pulled the blanket around her. She was cold, now that she thought of it. She tossed the photos down onto the pile of papers.

“I don’t want to turn into you,” she said.

“Hm?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. No, that’s not the right word,” she added, when she heard him shift position on the couch. “That’s what I’m wary of. Turning into you.”

“And that would be a bad thing,” he said.

“I don’t mean the addiction, that’s not what I mean. I mean--” she sighed, frustrated with herself. “I’m saying this all wrong. I’m afraid of being absorbed into your life.”

“I see,” he said, and she turned to look at him over her shoulder. He was still, tense, waiting.

She turned slightly so she could look at him properly. “When I was a surgeon, that was my whole life. I planned for it, studied for it, enjoyed it. I was good at it. And when I had to stop, I didn’t know what to do. Liam became my focus, and his addiction, and then the aftermath when I realized I couldn’t stay with him. I couldn’t save him.”

“And you became a sober companion.”

“Yes, so I didn’t really take my focus off of him, you see?”

Sherlock nodded. “You were still ordering your life around him, even when he wasn’t there.”

“Right. But then I met you, and saw what you do.”

“And you liked it. And are good at it,” he added.

She nodded. “Yes, I love what you do. What we do. And I am good at it. It’s like being a surgeon, only better, because it’s less focused.” She looked down at her hands, which she still put beeswax lotion on every day, out of habit. “I’m just worried that I’m doing the same thing, ordering my life around someone else.”

“Around another addict.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I mean. And if I hadn’t been a sober companion, we never would have met, and my life would have stayed...ordinary.”

He stood up quickly, then sat on the floor in front of her, taking her hands in his. “Our partnership is the most significant thing that has ever happened to me. I value it more than anything else, and I value you. But I want you to be happy.”

She squeezed his hands. “I am happy.”

“I don’t want an apprentice. I want a partner. I think we’re good for each other. I value you for your own talents and gifts, and I want to bring those out, not turn you into a copy of me somehow. Even if I could.”

“I guess I’m just trying to figure out how that works.”

“It’s new territory for me as well. But I think we’ll solve it. Together.”

She nodded. “Okay. Together.”

Sherlock was silent, and she could hear Clyde rustling about in his terrarium. She wondered if he had been fed today. 

“He’s probably hungry,” Sherlock said, and she looked up at him sharply, dropping her hands from his. He laughed. “I’m not a mind-reader. But I do think you’re hungry, too. As am I.” He stood smoothly, then offered her his hand to help her up. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

She fed Clyde, then followed Sherlock into the kitchen and watched as he quickly fixed them some eggs and toast. Comfort food, she thought. Simple, sustaining, not flashy like his brother with his elaborate meals. She smiled to herself.

“What is amusing you?” he asked as he set the plate of food in front of her. 

“Nothing, just thinking I made the right choice.”

“Of?”

“Brothers,” she said simply, and she smiled again when that made him nearly drop his plate.

“I see,” he said, as he took the seat next to hers at the table. “Sure of that, are you?” he asked, his tone neutral, but she could see the tension in his shoulders.

She nodded. “Positive,” she said, and felt the stress drain out of her own shoulders as it did out of his. 

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. She dropped her fork and stood up quickly, making Sherlock jump. 

“I figured it out! The autopsy photos!”

“Of course you did,” he said, hurrying to go gather the photos for her. 

She took them from him, chose one, and pointed at the tiny scar on the arm, nearly invisible. “See, this, here? Our victim didn’t have any scars. These are from a different person.”

“I’ll call Detective Bell,” he said, pulling out his phone.

“Tell him to meet us at the morgue.” She looked down at their unfinished meal, and sat down again. “In 15 minutes. After we’ve finished eating.”

He nodded, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Yes, of course,” he said, with no sign of impatience.

She smiled to herself. Yes, they would figure this out. Together.


End file.
